


A King and His Warlock

by xaritomene



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:06:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaritomene/pseuds/xaritomene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Arthur and his trusted Court Physician, Merlin, share a moment of gentle domesticity.</p><p>(written for <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/thefuturefest">thefuturefest</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A King and His Warlock

Around midwinter, Arthur knew, the cold actually settled in Merlin's bones like a physical ache, the warm magic that lined every muscle and vein in him chilling with the weather and making his joints ache and seize. So during the winter, he made sure the fires were banked up high in any room Merlin might go to, their rooms more than any other. He didn't touch Merlin's workroom, since he was never sure what the heat might disturb, but magical fires burnt high in the fireplaces there, purple and green and blue...

Once he'd asked him what the colour meant, thinking it would be something complicated and arcane to do with the spells, or the potions Merlin was brewing.

"Depends what colour I feel most like seeing." Merlin grinned, a scarlet flame leaping in the fireplace, among the current vivid blue.  
Arthur had sniffed. "All that blue - rather disloyal, don't you think?"

The grin stayed, but Merlin's blue eyes were very soft, warm in a way his fire would never be. "Never, my King." He said, quiet and firm.

For all his adoring dependency on magic, Merlin had discovered a genuine love of plants and herbs, and curing people. His healing potions were some of the best in the land; even his ordinary tinctures had a touch of magic to each one, increasing their strength and length of life. And unlike any previous physician, no one in the castle who sickened was overlooked. The twelve year old scullery maid with toothache could go to Merlin, or one of his assistants - he had three - for pain relief and a cure. It had been Arthur who insisted on the assistants, after weeks of putting an exhausted Merlin to bed after he'd fallen asleep in his workroom again.

For years, Merlin had been Court Physician in name and court sorcerer and advisor to the King in secret. He had, without complaint, corrected the mistakes of the 'real' Court Sorcerer, and checked the plans of the advisors, correcting them for the human element all of them were too old or too noble to see. Things only finally changed when Merlin lost his temper with the whole lot of them - sorcerer included - and sent them all to their rooms like unruly children, with an underlying thrum of magic to his words which none dared disobey. For years before that, Arthur and Merlin had dealt with questions as to why 'the physician' sat in on the advisor's meetings with the King, dark head bent over a portable writing desk he had inherited from Gaius, blue eyes fixed firmly on the paper in front of him, apparently ignoring them all.

After he'd dismissed them all so suddenly, Merlin had looked at Arthur, suddenly stricken by his own actions, apology written in his eyes.

And Arthur had laughed. "It's so nice to know," He had said, through laughter, "That after everything that's changed, you're still an idiot."

"And you're still a prat." Merlin had muttered, flushing with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know you didn't. But maybe now they'll stop asking why I always include you in these meetings."

"Maybe I should have taken you up on the offer of court sorcerer." Merlin had admitted, still flushed and shame-faced.

"You were the one who said that you didn't think you could manage both jobs-" Arthur had said.

"Yes, I know, but-"

"But you already do both anyway." He had shrugged. "The offer's still open."

"But what about Vivian?" Merlin had asked, biting his lip.

"I'm sure he'll get over it."

**

No one had questioned Merlin since, not even the rather chagrined Vivian, who had disliked having his – not inconsiderable - magical strength so clearly outmatched. But officially combining the roles left Merlin exhausted every night; in the end, Arthur had to proclaim Saturday and Sunday as days of rest for the whole court, so Merlin didn't work himself to death.

Still, Arthur thought, knocking on the door to the workroom that linked their chambers, Merlin seemed to be doing that fine anyway. This was the fourth night in a row that Merlin hadn't appeared at dinner, and the third night that Arthur had had to bring him his meal; he didn't trust servants in Merlin's workroom, where so many entrancing and dangerous things were kept.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure that he trusted a servant to do this right at all. Merlin had a reputation; any servant worth his salt would be extremely polite and leave as quickly as possible. Not to mention, the servants seemed to have the strangest ideas about what a sorcerer as powerful as Merlin should or would eat. Merlin had come to him once, a bemused smile on his face and a very plump, very alive mouse held in his hands, placid and trusting.

"Miriam said she'd brought my dinner." He'd said, voice light with amusement. "And then gave me this." He held out the mouse to Arthur, who stared, equally bemused. The mouse – christened Penelope – lived on in a large cage in one of the better ventilated corners of Merlin's workroom, adoring Merlin and apparently loathing Arthur with an unquenchable passion. She had bitten him several times now.

So, no, after that inadvertent gift, Arthur didn't trust servants with the task of getting food for Merlin. Although Arthur didn't go to the kitchens himself - he'd learnt the hard way that that was the best way to make everyone as uncomfortable as possible, including himself - but he did order a meal for himself, and then take it through to Merlin. He would request certain things, favourites to tempt an increasingly picky appetite. When Merlin got tired, he got snappy and his appetite disappeared. But however determined Merlin was to be difficult, Arthur was at least twice as determined to see that the stupid man ate and slept like a normal person - - or as normal as Merlin ever could be.

"Merlin?" he said, opening the door. Merlin didn't even look up from what he was writing, frantically. "You missed dinner again."

"One moment." Merlin said, distractedly, dipping his quill in the inkpot without even looking. There were several pages covered with Merlin's frankly indecipherable scrawl; Arthur was privately convinced that Merlin had hired at least one of his assistants because he could read Merlin's writing.

The room was almost unbearably hot, so Arthur put the plate of cold food outside, and ventured over to where Merlin sat, pulling out a stool, and perching on it next to Merlin; he was determined not to let Merlin forget he'd been here.

"What're you doing this time?" he asked, but Merlin barely glanced at him.

"Found a possible cure for the plague Mercia had last summer. Chances are we'll have it ourselves come June. After the help we gave them, we can't afford..." He trailed off before he'd even finished.

"How much longer?" Arthur asked, resignedly.

"'Nother couple of hours and I should have it." Merlin murmured, tongue sticking out between his teeth as he scribbled.

"No, I meant until you've finished writing." Arthur said, sternly. "Anything else can wait for tomorrow."

"But what if I make a breakthrough tonight?" Merlin asked, finally looking up.

"Breakthroughs can wait till tomorrow." Arthur repeated, firmly. "You know you're more likely to make mistakes when you're tired, I've heard you tell your assistants off for it."

Merlin flushed. "Fine. Five minutes, and I'll be done."

Arthur stood, glad to escape the sweltering heat of the workroom. "OK." He agreed. "But I will come in and get you if you're not out in five minutes."

Ever since Merlin had started his vacant-genius phase, Arthur had started keeping cutlery in his room, and now he took five minutes to lay out a knife and fork at the table in the private chamber just off his bedroom, a room which had only ever had one chair before Merlin had arrived. A linen napkin joined it, then, after a moment's consideration, he added a cushion to the chair. When Merlin arrived in the room, stretching with a yawn, Arthur had stoked the fire and laid the food out on the table in preparation.

"Did I miss dinner again?" He asked, flicking an absent finger towards the fireplace; and the odd green flame flickered among the normal, cheerful yellow. "And why is it so cold in here?"

"Yes." Arthur eyed him, sternly. "Do it again, and I will drag you down to the Great Hall by your ear." he paused, putting another log on the now magically-enhanced fire, stabbing at it erratically with the poker. "And it's cold because your workroom is like an oven."

"Morgana would box yours for you if you tried that." Merlin said, flopping down on the cushioned chair with a blissful sigh, leaning backwards and letting his eyes slip shut, ignoring the dig about his workroom.

"Food, then sleep." Arthur chided. "And you could use a bath. You smell of rotten eggs."

Merlin poked at the food on his plate, cutting up a sausage with absent precision; working as the court physician had given him a taught kind of grace. "I think there might be a way of creating a tincture which will hold the plague at bay, it's ammonium-based." Arthur nodded like he understood this. 'Ammonium'? "But it would have to go straight into a person's veins. I don't think anyone would let me do that."

"Blood magic." Arthur agreed, quietly. "Too much like that, and no one likes it."

"I'll see if it can be made into a potion." Merlin sighed, pushing his plate away.

"Tomorrow." Arthur agreed. "Try the cheese," He added, pushing the plate back towards him. "It's your favourite."

Merlin gave him a look, half-fond, half-exasperated, which let him know that Merlin knew exactly what he, Arthur, was doing. "Thank you." He said, spearing a little with his fork, adding a little sausage to the mouthful.

"It's no wonder you're so skinny." Arthur said, eyeing his physician's frame critically. The robes he wore - always red (Arthur liked seeing him in red), with a trim of cloth-of-gold which always looked somehow tarnished - hung off him, and with the purple shadows under his eyes, he was starting to look gaunt. "The cure for the plague will wait." He said, abruptly. "It doesn't start to spread until midsummer, eight months from now. We can survive a plague. I won't have you tiring yourself out like this unnecessarily."

Merlin paused only to swallow his mouthful. "Why-"

"It's not practical, Merlin." Arthur said, forcing himself to stay objective. "If we were attacked, we would need our sorcerer."

Merlin chewed, thoughtfully, then nodded. "Alright."

Arthur let one hand cover Merlin's on the table. "I don't like having to order you to look after yourself." he said, quietly, looking at their hands so he didn't have to look Merlin in the eye.

"I'll try harder." Merlin promised. "I just - it's so interesting, I just forget sometimes."

"Well, stop forgetting." Arthur ordered with a smile. "I have to take time out of my busy schedule to chase you with food. I am the King, you know."

"Really?" Merlin said, ingenuously. "I wish you'd told me earlier. I thought you were-"

"I don't want to know what you thought I was." Arthur said, quickly.

"Didn't think you would." Merlin's grin was bright and mischievous, and all the things Arthur hadn't seen for a ridiculously long time.

They sat in warm, companionable silence for a few minutes, until Merlin pushed away his plate, still only three-quarters finished at best.

"How was your day?" he asked reluctantly taking the apple Arthur handed him and took a bite. "Have the Gallians gone?"

"Finally." he nodded. "We need that treaty, but if we didn't..."

"The ambassador was a little - slimy, wasn't he?" Merlin agreed, mildly.

"Mostly towards you." Arthur bristled.

Merlin chuckled. "Magic has a strange effect on people." He said, placidly. "It was nothing else, Arthur. Albion is strong, but all the silly stories make you sound like a warrior to rival Apollo, and me like I obliterate countries when I get cross. I think the ambassador just decided it was safer to placate the one who causes earthquakes with a sneeze."

"Well..." Arthur subsided, a little mollified.

"Is the treaty as favourable as you'd hoped?"

"Merlin." Arthur frowned at him. "You know what I'd hoped for, and you helped me draft what it actually is. Don't play stupid, no good you are at it. "

"Years of practice." Merlin said with a grin.

Another long, comfortable silence. Arthur broke it, groaning as he stretched out, joints popping. "When you're young, you think all the injuries you have just disappear when they heal. And then you hit thirty-five, and they all come back at once." he complained.

"C'mere." Merlin said, abandoning his half-eaten apple on the plate, and coming round the table to stand behind his King, massaging tense shoulders with hands that left faint gold marks on the robes as he moved, magic sinking in to Arthur's shoulders and easing the aches and pains.

"Frivolous use of magic." Arthur murmured, eyes shut.

"Useful, though."

"Not complaining." His words were starting to slur. "Just sayin'."

Merlin stopped the massage. "Come on." he said, fondly. "Let's get you to bed. I'm too old to start putting you to bed again."

Arthur made it to the bed, and managed to stumble his way through changing out of his clothes, watching as Merlin did the same, magicking both of them into night-gowns despite Arthur's protests.

"I'm not going without some protection against the cold just for your kicks." Merlin said, sternly, but the lines around his eyes creased fondly as he looked at his King, and climbed into bed next to him.

Immediately, Arthur pulled him to him, one arm round the too-skinny waist, the other behind his own head. "You still smell like rotten eggs." He said, sleepily, and Merlin muttered something incomprehensible into the curve of his shoulder. The smell disappeared, and Arthur let his head drop onto the top of Merlin's head. "Goodnight."

Merlin clicked his fingers, and the light of the candles went out, leaving the room bathed in warm firelight and nothing else. "Goodnight, Arthur." He pressed a kiss to Arthur's cheek, and settled back down again. For as long as he could keep his eyes open, Arthur watched him, before settling down himself, curling into his lover with a sigh.

Peace and contentment were both hard work, but for the moment, they had them.


End file.
